


Why does my heart keep on beating

by pistolrush



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: After the Disaster, Angst, Angst and Porn, Before Racoon City gets destroyed, Blackmail, Business Talk, Child Death, Corporate Espionage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I will note what time period each chapter is in, MC has Hybristophilia, Main character becomes a terrible person, Main character is a short seller, Mind Break toward the end, Mostly to stop being numb, NTR elements, Not a Love Story, OC had a terrible past before story start, Original Character Death(s), POV Original Character, Psychological Drama, References to Depression, Sergei is a Sadodere in this, Suspense, Switches between two time periods, The begining is kind of action oriented, The rest is, Trauma, Will definitely have to add tags as I go along, You know the stock analyst kind, never explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolrush/pseuds/pistolrush
Summary: A woman held the keys to stopping Umbrella before Raccoon City was destroyed. But she chose wrong and now has to live with the consequences. But why try atoning when the road is so hard.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Female Character, Sergei Vladimir/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Later parts take place before the end of the Umbrella Chronicles game. Just wanted to write about a woman that makes one mistake and losing her way. Plus I wanted to explore some true despair in a fic with some one egging the person to be a bad person. Felt like Sergei was the person for that. Especially considering how doomed everyone is.

After the Raccoon City Incident

Olivia’s mom used to claim when you lose a loved one, you lose the finest parts of yourself. More so when one has to bury their child. No one survives it. You died once you bury them in the hard ground. As a child, such talk used to horrify Olivia. 

Now, Olivia envied that someone. That person’s child died peacefully. At least they got to bury their loved ones. She thought before tipping back another cup of strong zavarka tea. She looks out over the small tavern, annoyed that her contact still wasn’t here yet. Someone was playing a domra, but even the lively music couldn’t pull her away from the darker thoughts. 

In Olivia’s mind, the most important parts of her died in the Raccoon City disaster. The nuclear fire that cleansed both her heart and hope. When a loved one dies, one could go visit the grave for closure. But all she had was a radioactive patch of land that hid all the horrors that happened there. She was full of ashes. The death of her family making her a walking, talking corpse of her former self. 

A close clap made her jump. The music becoming more boisterous in the pub. She again glances over the crowd, trying to see if the contact arrived. He was late. It was putting her at risk. Olivia knew she stood out in this small, rustic pub. Despite the Umbrella lab nearby, she realized that most of the workers there did not come to this tiny village often.

Olivia’s handler insisted on it. She drank more of the sweet hot tea, resting a hand over her breast. It was where she put the journal. The one she started as soon as her mission keeping tabs on the complex began. It was full of passcodes, diagrams and blueprints. Written to prevent the security system from detecting a data breach. Olivia hopes that this last exchange would allow her to get out of this Slavic backwater and far from the clutches of Umbrella. 

Away from the bastards that incinerated her poor babies. Her hand clenches too hard around the cup’s handle. These days were full of either despair or hatred. Hard to decide which one was worse to her mental wellbeing. 

“Dobryy vecher, ma’am,” her handler was a soft-faced man who looks like he is barely out of high school. Olivia remembers him from that support group two years ago. The group that recruited her must have picked up a few more members. She pushes the chair beside her out and pours a cup of tea for him. He sits down beside her. He does not drink the tea.

“You look terrible, Olivia.” He says in English after a long pause. She shrugs off his hand on hers. They continue in English to keep the locals from eavesdropping.

“Alan, you try smiling at the fuckers at that company every day. Imagine having to pretend that you don’t want to shoot every single one of those evil bastards while pretending to espouse Umbrella’s core values. Having to stuff down that hate makes one stressed, kiddo. Haven’t been getting the best sleep.” The man looks down at the tea she’d made for him.

“Let’s get this over with, Olivia. I am sure Umbrella is going to miss their newest employee if we linger. Unless you need an extract now?”

“No, I still haven’t found out where their newest bio weapon is. I want to make sure BAU nails Spencer’s ass.”

“I understand.” Olivia unbuttons her jacket and removes the small journal from the breast pocket. Being low tech was the best method for transferring data to her handlers. Umbrella monitored the town and the computers at their campus. However, with exchanging a small journal, the act of data transferring looked less guilty if seen. 

With that transaction done, Olivia stands to leave. She finishes both of their cups of tea, eager to get back to the offices. She hoped no one had missed her. 

As Olivia glances around the room one more time, she notices a familiar figure sitting in the corner. Cold gray eyes watching them with curiosity. Her heart thudded harder in her chest. She puts her hand on Alan’s shoulder and squeezes, horror making her light headed. Her knuckles whitening from the grip. Alan grimaces. The large frame, the white blond hair, that fucking purple overcoat that she had once wondered if he had an entire closet of. Sergei goddamn Vladimir sitting in the corner drinking zavarka, watching the whole thing go down. 

How often did the leader of an Umbrella biolab come here to drink tea? It seemed ridiculous, considering that anyone at the lab could make it for him. He hadn’t seemed like the type to enjoy a more rustic setting. 

His gaze on her made her skin crawl. Had he made her? Did he recognize her from... before? She felt the tremors of terror about to come on. It was him. The monster who made her do those things. Bastard that pulled her into the dark. He that ripped her heart and family away with a smile. She imagined the streets of her childhood home. Just like her therapist had recommended. Ashleigh street, Pine lane, Windsor Avenue, Fourth street. She needed to hide her intentions. Make this meeting look more innocent. 

Alan looked up at her with concern. “Are you okay, Olivia?”

“Get up and walk with me, Alan. Put your arms around me and kiss me. Let’s go now.” Alan looks too eager to do so after a second of confusion. As he stands, his arm slides around her waist. He places a kiss to her temple after she nuzzles his neck. He strokes her dyed red hair.

“Honey, do you mind walking me to my Snowcat?” He asked. 

“My dear, I would love to. Please enjoy my little notebook.” As they walk out of the little tavern, arm in arm, Olivia took a quick glance at Sergei. The glare on his face made her heart stop. He looks so angry, but as his eyes met hers, his face softens. There is something there that makes her go cold. Recognition.

Not the type that told Olivia that he made her. He seemed puzzled, as if Sergei couldn’t remember where he had seen her. Only that he had. Olivia had grown out her hair since they last saw each other. It was red, not the deep brown of before. She had become more gaunt. Curves melting away on a diet of tea and nicotine. She couldn’t forget him. Everything that he did seared his face into her nightmares. The Russian scared her. He was the one person who could destroy her. If she left now, maybe he wouldn’t be able to place her.

The wind fills the air with the promise of a blizzard. Ice cold wind making her pull the hood of her parka up. She disengages from Alan to allow him to put his coat back on. As snow flutters down, they walk to his Snowcat. 

“Next time we meet, we need to go to a town further from here.” Olivia flicks a red curl out of her face. Alan makes an annoyed sound.

“Olivia, be reasonable. This town is the only town in a thirty-mile radius. Beside our agent will not like you going so far from the base. It might draw suspicion on the operation.” Alan fishes his keys out of his pocket, the gloves making him clumsy. Unbidden, the thought comes to the forefront of her mind. 

‘Sergei was much more smooth than that.’ Olivia strangles that thought in her head. She doesn’t want to think about him.

“Sergei Vladimir was in there just now.” Alan looks startled. “I don’t think he made us. But it is too close to being found out. We can’t go about risking fate like that.” Olivia doesn’t mention the glare. Alan tries to play it cool and shrugs. 

“Well, I’ll talk to you know who about it. Keep your sat phone charged, I’ll call you with the details on the next meeting.” She waves goodbye to him and walks back to the tavern. 

The Snowcat explodes behind her with a roar that Olivia never heard. Her hearing was the first to go, eardrums rupturing. The ringing in her ears more like angry hornets. She sways for a moment, dizzy. Then the heat knocks her off her feet.

Olivia doesn’t have time to worry in the moment of free fall. Gone are thoughts of Sergei, blown covers, her handler or even her dead children. Her thoughts instead turn toward the hope that she would not land on something sharp. 

She landed hard against the side of a snowmobile. Her ribs slams against the handles before she sinks to her knees. The snow and dirt spins in her vision, red drips down leaving her confused. Her hurt mind realizes that it is coming from her mouth. She opens her mouth to scream, but some of her teeth spills out. Olivia gets sick, feels blood, and bile and tea creep up her throat. 

Instead, she screams despite the pain like a knife in her side. The sound is too soft. There is too much ringing in her ears. She can’t hear herself. Everything feels wrong. 

Olivia falls into her spit up teeth. She knows something in her broke, but the hurt makes her confused. Each breath hurts and she can’t move. Her left leg looks... she shuts her eyes and shrieks again. 

It is too much pain; it overwhelms. Still, some sick part of her has to know if the leg is still there. Just touching the hip joint has her breath hitching. It is in the wrong direction, her inner thigh turning out. Her hands fall away, too frightened to explore more. 

Tears streamed down her face. Her therapist was right. She should have let go of her anger. It had only led to bad things. 

Flames licked at the Snowcat, casting red shadows on the snow. It fans out along with the spilled gasoline. Sadly, it flows away from her. She didn’t know that the tavern patrons ran out until two woman roll her onto her back. Her breath comes out in a hiss and the pain. She can see now that her foot is rotated. She sees others through tear-blurred eyes attempting to put out the flames.

“Z vamy vse harazd? Ty bolytʹ?” The first words that she hears as the ringing subsided. When Olivia did not answer, the younger of the two women looks more frantic and repeats the words as the other searches her for further injuries. Her Russian was still poor, the stress making the words hard to understand. Couldn’t the woman see she was in pain?

“Tak, yiy bolyache. Ale vash likar ne zmozhe yiy dopomohty. Ya mozhu vzyaty na sebe zvidsy. Miy likar mozhe podbaty pro tse.” The voice makes her heart shiver in her chest. Sergei. He kneels down beside her with a concerned expression on his face. She takes a deep breath and that sharp pain makes her convulse. 

‘No, no, no. God, please listen to this unworthy prayer. Do not let them leave me alone with him. Please make them insist on staying with me. Don’t let them leave. Please do not let him recognize me. Please don’t let him take me.’ Her pain and fright reduces Olivia to the thoughts of a child. Mommy was not coming to save her from this monster. 

The women and Sergei have a conversation that she cannot follow. The younger one incredulous at the words coming out of his mouth. What was he saying? Another stab of agony and she loses interest. Moaning with the pain and cold, she wonders if these people have any herbs to help heal her. 

“She says you were screaming, Olivia. The screams of a dying thing. That might mean you didn’t break your ribs, Olivia. Bruised them .You have an abrasion and some broken teeth. Your face will bruise. Your left femur and leg are broken. Which is wonderful... you won’t be able to run this time.”

Sergei runs a pacifying hand through her hair. Olivia screams, not caring about the suffering. Terror makes her heart feel like a trapped bird. It ends with a wheeze. She feels dizzy. Can’t get enough air. 

“You should stop and make your breathing calmer. No point in screaming now. This suffering is your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited because I finally decided the OC's origin. Then realized I meant Russian instead of Ukrainian in one sentence and then used Russian like a genius for the conversation. Please forgive me. I am never perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is not as much Sergei in this because I'm setting things up. I'm sorry please don't hate me. I really didn't mean to take a month to post the second chapter, it is just my personal life got kind of crazy. Will try to do better in the future. Also I hope I did okay with all this business, corporate talk. Also decided to make the OC Ukrainian just because. Also surprise the main OC is very damaged. Always appreciate feedback on my work. (Edited for some spelling errors.)

Before Disaster

Olivia wondered, not for the first time that week, why had Humanita’s CFO Cheryl invited her to their main offices? Especially since she was the doomsayer of their business since they went public a few years back.

No company survives on performing good works, Olivia had suggested. They were her only failed projection. Their increasing profits for four years straight felt like laughter in her face.

‘Don’t belong here,’ that voice she couldn’t really get rid of mumbled in her mind, not during proper hours. She was used to seeing clients in restaurants of her choice, hidden backrooms, or her office. Never openly. Never locations of the client’s digression. It was better to keep them off balance that way. Give her the power.

Oliva was embarrassed in her fashionable but retail bought white and black pantsuit as everyone else in the waiting room wore Dior, Ralph Lauren, Chanel, and other designers she couldn’t afford... yet. She hungered for a smoke, but tucks a stray strand of brown hair back behind her ear. Leaving now was out of the question. If Cheryl’s secretary called for her and she wasn’t there... It sent the wrong message. The digital clock on the secretary’s desk counted down the time. Olivia lets out a sigh, irritated. 

Olivia wondered if Cheryl just needed to see how long she’d wait. She’d wait her out. Olivia ran over what she learned about the two companies merging in a month. 

In her mind, there was no way a unification between Humanita Pharmaceuticals and Umbrella USA would work in the long term. Her company was already suggesting to other customers that they bet against their stocks. The stress fractures were conspicuous. It was the two antagonistic philosophies. 

Humanita cared wasn’t just a slogan but their mission statement. The upper management believed in making the world a better place through medicine. The CEO Rohan Singh was a wunderkind who invented and patented for some of the strongest antivirals in the pharmaceutical field. They provided free aid and medications to third world countries. Offered far cheaper generics to low-income families. To work there, devotion to public service was desired.

From what she had witnessed of Umbrella, despite their public phrase of preserving the health of the people, they were in it for the money. They had their fingers in everything, seeking to gain as much capital as possible. Admirable trait, Olivia just wished she knew more about them. They had outstanding stock prices and a diverse portfolio of assets. But they held their information close to the chest. However, they were infamous among short sellers.

Any company that merged with them in the past ended up stripped of their assets and left to flop. Sharks, that was how one of her colleagues described them once.

“Fucking sharks and we’re the little eels that get to eat up the leftovers.” Olivia didn’t have the heart to tell him that would make them remora fish, not eels. 

“Mrs. Yusuprova. Cheryl will see you now.” Olivia nods at the secretary, reaching across the seat for her handbag. She shrugs back on her coat, the pack of cigarettes smacking her thigh. Readjusts her sleeves as the coat’s cuffs pull them up. It wouldn’t do to appear disheveled. 

The secretary opens the door to Cheryl’s office. Another modern office, all glass and stainless steel, appealing to an atmosphere of freshness that Olivia did not appreciate. No old world grace. 

“I’m sorry that it took so long, Mrs. Yusuprova. Ms. Anderson had an unexcepted phone conference.”

Oliva smiles thinly at her. “Next time, please warn me if I’m just coming to sit and waste my time.” She speaks English with a light trace of an accent. 

She sweeps past the woman, ignoring how her face fell at that remark. Puts a polite smile as Cheryl glanced up at her, placing the phone back into the receiver.

“Hello, Cheryl. Long time, no see. How is the separation going?”

“The divorce is going fine. My lawyers are having a field day with him. He’s regretting signing that prenuptial. Wendy, close the door and for the next hour, do not let anyone in.” Cheryl gestures to a chair for Olivia to sit down in. She sits, crossing her legs. 

“Ms. Cheryl,” Olivia raises an eyebrow at the familiar tone. “Umbrella USA’s CFO is coming in an hour. They don’t like to wait.”

“I’m certain you’ll come up with something, Wendy. You always do.” Cheryl’s tone clarifies that she is dismissed. When the door closes, Cheryl takes a deep breath.

“I’m scared that we’ve made a mistake letting Umbrella USA know that we want to consolidate assets with them.”

“What?” Olivia had never seen Cheryl be so candid. In their past meetings, Olivia could not pry information out of her. Cheryl preferred to keep things close to her chest. Olivia had only known about the divorce because of the husband’s hysterics.

“Why do you need my services then? It seems you concluded that yourself.” 

“Everyone else, including Mr. Singh, thinks merging with them is going to lead to a wondrous new era here of aiding humanity. I… don’t trust them. Seen far too many companies merge with Umbrella and become corpses of their former selves. Used to work for a company they gained and watched them ransacked it. So they’ll dismiss any of my doubts out of hand. I have a bias, they’ll say.” 

Olivia nods, face a picture of care and understanding. “So you need me to be the impartial outsider. The short seller that was researching Umbrella stocks and noticed something strange in their financials. Sounds unethical.” 

“Is that going to be a dilemma? EBC stated you did something similar for them with that Henderson merger.”

She’d done her background check. “No, no issues with my ethics. I just wonder why I had to come here to learn this.” 

“I wanted to piss off their CFO by making them wait. How much are you going to need for your services?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand is a nice round figure for me. I’m having my employees stop profitable work just to make a risk analysis statement for you. They have mouths to feed and so do I.” Olivia was sure the amount wouldn’t even dent Cheryl’s clothing budget. 

“That sum is tolerable. I will grant you three weeks and I need you to be meticulous. Three weeks permits me ample time to disrupt the merger if you discover anything terrible. I will have my secretary write a check, today. Half now, half when the document is in my hand. If you don’t mind waiting?” 

“No. I was wondering, where do your employees go to smoke? I can wait out there if you’d like.” She takes out her cigarettes, enclosed in a white and blue box with Cyrillic lettering. “A nasty habit, but it helps me think.”

“I’ll take you there. We can talk more about what I require.” Olivia felt weary of Cheryl’s easy familiarity with her. It’s obvious that this too was to stick it to the Umbrella CFO. She hated playing the pawn.

“Sure,” Olivia uncrosses her legs and stands. “As long as you don’t mind Belomorkanal. They can be strong.”

“No, thank you. I’m a Newports girl, myself.” Her lighter flashes silver in the filtered sunlight. Olivia hated the burnt plastic stink of the things. 

“Lead the way.” Olivia would have whispered. She never has time to say it. There is a timid knock at the door. A flustered Wendy is standing there. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Cheryl. But Umbrella’s people arrived early, like half an hour early. And they’re with Mr. Singh, Patrick, Stephanie, and John right now. You need to get there ASAP. Those people are not playing games.” The look on Cheryl’s face was pure bitter terror. Olivia imagined that face was the same as her husband’s when he read the prenuptial.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please show Olivia the smoker’s area. And then cut a check to her business. One hundred twenty-five thousand dollars US. Use my other bank account, okay?” Wendy nods. “Good girl.”

Cheryl looks to Oliva. “Pick it up on your way out. Keep me updated on what you discover.” 

“I will. You won’t regret using my services.” As soon as it is out of her mouth, Olivia hates how eager she sounds. It never pays to appear so hungry to these people. They take liberties. Assume one wants to work for free. Assume that you want to break the law for them. 

The both of them are silent as Wendy walks her past a hive of corporate bees. All the desks, glass and metal. Glass doors to promote the notion that no one had anything to hide from the other. The floor plan open to strengthen equality and solidarity. The place like a maze until they got to a stairwell. At the top of the stairs is a keypad locked door, also glass. 

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, Mrs. Yusuprova. Humanita found that placing the approved smoker’s area here on the balcony helped half the employees quit that habit. The code is 821 to go in and out.” Wendy’s voice is tight and hard. Northeastern accent makes a butchery of her name. 

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but heights are not one of them. May I give you some advice?”

“If you insist, but make it quick. Me and Cheryl have a lot of work to do.”

“If you and Cheryl are… intimate, sign nothing she gives you. Don’t let her talk you into a relationship. You’ll regret it later.” Cheryl wouldn’t appreciate the advice, but this young woman might make something of herself. Olivia doesn’t give her a chance to reply. Wind snatches at both of their words. 

It is a small skylight area nestled against the building. From here, she can see the city. Olivia relished the view. It was different than the view from the rat infested apartments of her childhood. Seeing this American city like this was another sign that her past was molting from her.

The sight still gives her a brief sense of vertigo, like she’s falling free. The edge of the railing calling like a siren. What was it like to descend? To glance at the sun as she falls closer to disaster. It is a brief, silly thought. A fragment of her old life. She ignores it. Be harder than a coffin nail and she would make it to a place like this.

Olivia waits for the wind to stop pulling at her black suit jacket. Then shakes a cigarette out of the box. She was getting low, only four in the box. When her mother went to visit her sister in Kiev, Olivia would ask her to buy another box and mail it to her. 

Out of all things she had let go of coming here, Belomorkanals were not one of them. Olivia sucks in a deep pull, coughs a little due to the lack of a filter. It was more pure this way. She lets it out with a smile. The wind blowing it past her face as she stands there. She appreciates that she has the work. If enough clients ask her for risk analysis, she might just switch fields.

Olivia thinks after school, she’ll take Sofia to the park to enjoy the clean, warm air. Maybe buy her an ice cream cone for her recent good grades. She was such a smart girl. Better than her.

“Now that is a brand few Americans are aware of. Are you also from the Motherland?” Olivia is pulled from her inner thoughts by the door to the balcony opening. The man’s voice is deep, urbane and wistful. His voice also had a thick Russian accent. It sounded like he was fresh off of the boat as the Americans liked to say. Olivia would have kept looking out over the city, hoping that the unseen matyook would take the hint.

But no, his large body fills up her peripheral vision like the moon eclipsing the sun. Her instincts force her to look up at him. And she has to look up because he is not just muscular but tall. At most, she comes to his chest. He is older than her, she can see the experience in his face. The crow’s feet at his eyes. And the multitude of scars, including one that took out his right eye. Long white hair swept across his face in the wind, covering that black ruined hole. It unnerved her.

His bearing and mannerisms scream ex-military to her. His clothing choice more so. It reminds her of the men that would come to visit her mother whenever she needed extra money for rent. And despite that smile and his massive scarred hand held out in greeting, Olivia’s hard-won survival instincts screamed run.

That feeling when she first got on the roof hits her when she meets that chilling blue gaze. Falling faster and faster to terminal velocity. This man made her terrified, _and it was wonderful to be scared. No, stop this thought. Don’t backslide. Remember him._

_“Either you shoot me or you shoot the brat, but I will not be secondary."_

Olivia shakes off the memory. She was not that person anymore. With a small tremble, she places her hand in his. Shakes it firmly. This is America, and fuckers like Alexei do not live in her circle.

“Hello fellow Slav, you smoke Belomorkanals?” Her Russian is slow, she has not used it as often as the other languages she knows.

“I haven’t had one since 1991. May I take one from you, Ms?” Olivia thinks the clumsy attempt at fishing out her name is almost charming. If she was back in Kiev, she might have fallen all over herself to tell him. But in America, a certain mystery was preferred. 

“You may, and that is Mrs Yusuprova to you.” No first and middle name. Nothing to show further intimacy. She lets go of his hand and taps a cigarette out of the box. He leans forward to let her light it. His scarred features this close are dangerously compelling. There is a scabbed cut on his knuckles. _Nebezpeka._

She lights his cigarette and goes back to watching the city. Just two strangers sharing cigarettes. The complete antithesis of a traditional Ukrainian greeting. Even his silence makes her unnerved. 

“You are from Kiev, Mrs Yusuprova. But you have not kept up with the mother tongue.” It is a statement, not a question. Olivia lets herself be pulled into a conversation.

“Yes, and I don’t really need to speak it here. Don’t you know, English is the language of power now.” She sucks in another pull, savoring the burn in her lungs.

His face goes from pleasantly smiling to disdain to a small smirk that pulls up the edges of his scarred lips. 

“Do you believe this country of capitalists has ideals worth your devotion? You will put your faith in our Mother’s enemies?” Olivia bites her tongue. Russia was still her people’s enemy, despite the fall of the USSR. But this was America. Here a Slavic person might as well be Russian for all they knew. He seems content to let the cigarette burn. Only one puff since she had lit the thing. Such a waste.

“No. Not anymore. Corporations are the superpowers of the future. And little fish like me or you will survive by latching ourselves to a big shark.” She hisses as her cigarette burns her hand. The cardboard holder starting to catch fire. Olivia flicks it over the railing, not caring if it lights up someone’s hair.

“So there is no mistake. I’m no fan of capitalism or communism. I just know that power is how much you can buy, not how strong you are. For instance, whoever hired you snapped you up from the Russian military. A stalwart defender of the motherland forced to work for a US corporation. Money is powerful. No?” She is talking too much. The fear of him making her ramble. He chuckles at her assessment. Doesn’t flinch as the cigarette’s ashes land hot on his pale, scarred knuckles.

“Are you new here? Despite our research on Humanita, I don’t believe you ever came up in the list of employees. I would have remembered a former citizen of the motherland.” 

‘Shit. He’s with Umbrella.’ She recovers, rakes a hand through her dark brown hair. Keeps her tone light.

“I’m freelance. Therefore, I keep my freedom in this world. Well, I have to go. Nice meeting you.“

The man laughs at that. “No one is free in this world. A Ukrainian should know that most of all, Olivia Ivanova Yusuprova.” Olivia turned, movement like a startled bird. She was about to interrogate him when he slipped a white paper into her hand. It was her business card. 

“You should be more careful, Mrs. Yusuprova. Anyone with ill intentions could use this against you. Do you have a pen?” Olivia pulls a pen from her purse. “May I give you my assistant’s number? In case we need a risk analysis from you. And pay you back for the Belomorkanal.” She hands him back her business card for him to write on.

“Yes, you may.” His handwriting is neat, in Cyrillic. The name on it is Sergei Vladimir. No middle name, odd. She places it back into her purse and makes her way back to Cheryl’s office. Her check takes her mind off the meeting with that strange scarred Russian.

Already she is thinking of what gift to bring home for Sofia and Petro. A stuffed animal, a movie, or perhaps a kitten. Sofia was old enough for the responsibility. Maybe a watch or some old coin to add to his collection.

It is only when she gets into her car that Olivia realizes something important. Her business card was only for her short selling firm. There was no mention of risk analysis on it at all. The big matyook kurvee played her the whole time. And he was smooth about the whole thing. Smoother than her at her best. 

“Okay, you win this time, Sergei. But when I fuck Umbrella in the ass, who will smile then?” It was still a great relief that she would not see Sergei again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> matyook- Ukrainian for a not nice term for Russians 
> 
> kurvee- Whore monger 
> 
> Belomorkanal- Inexpensive, strong, popular brand of cigarettes from the former USSR. Named after the canal of the same name.
> 
> Nebezpeka- Danger


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I have changed' I say. I'm not that brittle thing. But under pressure, can I really say that?

Present day, after disaster 

“Please don’t leave me alone. Please.” The words are quiet as Olivia’s hands grips tight to the old woman’s hands. She looks perplexed and shakes her head. Olivia’s Russian long since devolved to repeated pleading in her native tongue. The old woman glances at Sergei, who was talking to the crowd. Despite his calm demeanor, Olivia could observe how unbalanced he’d become.

“He’ll kill me. I’ll die. Please don’t let him take me.” Her daughter all but yanks her mother away from Olivia’s grasp.

“He has doctors. Take care of this. Do not drag us into your mess. He helps you now. Do not drag my mother into this.” The woman points at Sergei, Ukrainian coming out rushed and violent. Face screwed up in dread. Her mother looks pensive. Gnarled hands forming the sign of the cross, much like her mother used to do. They stomp away from her, leaving her alone, shattered and at his mercy. 

Olivia wants to howl after them. Plead and squirm with tears cascading down her face. But that would kill them. Surely as if she killed them herself. Look what happened to Allen. She could not carry any more shame. Her existence was poison. 

The crowd seemed more concerned about stopping the fire from spreading now. They avoided glancing at her and Sergei. His presence like a crimson stain upon her breast. The village knew who held the power here. She is a stranger. No one would help her.

Such grief fills Olivia that even the pain of her fractured hip becomes smaller. It is an abyss, yawning and pulling her further toward sorrow. She glares at her outstretched hands and knows she will meet her end here. Her therapist had been correct there.

The cold seeps in, numbing her. Fingers tremble as she closes them. She jolts as another flare of pain hits her. Through clenched teeth, she sobs. Don’t let him see how his works affected you. Hot tears trail along her cheeks. The cold freezes them. If not by fire, she wished the chill would finish her.

Sergei wipes them aside, the coldness and the terror making her teeth clatter. Minor acts of comfort were often his shorthand for far worse is coming. Her former self enjoyed that quirk. Now it makes her feel so drained. So helpless, how could she ever thought that savagery was exciting? 

She wishes that the explosion had killed her. Snapped her neck so her suffering ended there. Spared her from Sergei’s hand, caressing her face as he purrs in her ear.

“Alone at last. Already crying and I haven’t even touched you yet, zaika. Did you miss our games so much?” Olivia turns her head away, avoiding a finger that presses against her bottom lip. Some of her blood spills out of her mouth, staining the leather. She hopes its permanent. Her eyes scan the crowd for his beloved Ivans, wondering where they were. If they were watching from the fringes. 

Then Sergei’s hand grips her fractured thigh. For the next few minutes a treacherous, red tinged agony envelops her mind. She wails, trembles and moans. Prays for a salvation that will not come. Until she pleads for him to let go. 

“Stop! Please! It hurts. I won’t be bad, ser!” She sniffles as he lets go of her. The others ignored her screams. Too fearful of Umbrella to help her.

‘Survive, do whatever it takes. Show these country bumpkins that you are a survivor.’ The specter of her old self, amoral and pitiless, whispers to her. Survive, even if it meant fluttering your eyelashes at the behemoth.

“I’ll be your good little zaika.” Olivia hates the submissive tone she takes. How easily the Russian comes back to her. The whimper in her voice. Was her pride always so easy to swallow?

“Perfect, little rabbit. If you follow your countrymen’s propensity to bend at the slightest pressure, you might get ahead of this yet. I might even forget your mistakes.” He whispers in her ear. A part of her thrills at his praise. The same part that excused Alexei’s tight ropes around her throat and whispered doubts when she and Petro had been together. She was sick. And she loathed this sickness.

“I despise having to punish you like this. It is so impersonal. But watching you with that BAU fool made me jumpy. Surely my little zaika wasn’t trying to backstab me?” His large hand encircles her neck. All he has to do is squeeze hard to take her life. Olivia shakes her head, getting dizzy from her lungs, struggling to suck in more air despite the pain. 

“No, I didn’t. I...” Sergei cuts her off with an affectionate squeeze.

“Of course you wouldn’t, zaika. You’re prideful and vicious, but never reckless.” She sucks in air when he lets go of her throat. At the edges of her vision, white limiter jackets flutter in the dark. His beloved Ivans. Watching as their master tore her to pieces. Unmoved by her past cries of ecstatic suffering. She pulls herself out of that trip to the past. Down there were demons and sins so vast, damnation awaited her.

“Comrades, be careful collecting this toy. In my fun, I’ve caused some damage. Put her in the snowmobile.” He stands, leaving Olivia in the care of his pet Tyrants. They set her down in his Snowcat like she’s a sack of old boots. The jarring enough to shake her out of her daze as they climbed into the back. 

If Sergei took her back to the lab, it would be the death of her mind. It would not satisfy him to break her body. He’d shatter her in ways that Alexei would recoil from. To ruin her was his objective. Sick as she was, Olivia knew she would enjoy it. Better to die here than suffer that fate. Her former self balked at her newfound morality.

When Sergei’s face came back into her view, Olivia threw a punch. Or tried to. It was landed on his shoulder with little impact. Trying to use her uninjured leg wasn’t much better. He grabbed that first.

When her second punch only made him laugh, Olivia resorted to the guttersnipe tactics of her childhood. Scratching at his face, trying to bite as his hand covered the lower half of her face. Finally, she yanked on his hair, satisfied when he let out a pained gasp. Or was a moan? 

“Fine, I didn’t want to do this zaika. But if you insist on fighting, I’ll indulge you just this once.” He grabs her hair and slams her head against the door. Electric blue flares behind her eyes. Her head spins, the grip on his hair loosens. That buzzing in her ears returns with a vengeance.

Olivia barely feels the injection in her uninjured leg. Only when he’s finished does Olivia know he’d drugged her. Sergei flicks the needle out of the door with a smirk. She screams against his hand.

‘They make monsters. And he’s stuck me with something. No! I’m going to become a zombie! Like all of those people!’ That last thought, a flaming meteorite in her head as she wails. Mercifully, the drug pulls her down into unconsciousness before her panicking mind chews on the possibilities of her future.

For the first time, she doesn’t dream of her family or the hole their loss left in her life. Or the shambling corpses they surely became. Olivia dreams of Alexei. He of the strangling rope. The man who wrecked her first. 

In her dream, she was fifteen again. Running along the streets of Kiev, smoking Belomorkanals and picking pockets. She had no family to mourn, no future to worry about. The cold brisk wind whipping past as she ran free. Until he grabs her hand. They are alone.

“Little girl, it’s so tragic to see such a hateful look on your pretty face. Allow me to relieve your stress.” Then the dream fades away. His face is black, his embrace cold like the space between stars. His brown eyes lighting up as he wound his clever hands around her neck. She falls away to the void. And for those few hours, there is freedom from despair.

A murmuring comes to her senses, acting like a tether to her drifting mind. The taste of saltwater in her mouth, and she can’t float back that great black void. Merely hover here, waiting in dread and horror for the pain to start. Olivia opens her eyes, head lolling to the side. Trying her best to appear worn out and pathetic. It doesn’t take much effort. She expects an interrogation. 

Olivia struggles to take in a deep breath. Consciousness ebbing and flowing across her senses like the tide. She remembers the pain twisting like a knife against her nerves. It is still there, bearing down on her with the ominous promise of soon. Now, she feels golden brown, ready to drift. Animal panic keeps her from fading back into oblivion.

‘Sergei knows who I am!’ Her mind screams. ‘How long had he known? Did he enjoy watching me hide my recognition every time he looked at me for a beat too long? Or me having to swallow terror every time he got too close as I worked at my station? Was this just the start of another game to him?’ Her mind races.

Olivia couldn’t do it. Put up the white flag. Surrendering, just like all Ukrainians did, he would muse. She couldn’t survive another dance with him. He had taken everything the last time. Everything she came to America for gone. Wasn’t winning enough for the matyook? 

“I should have waited until you came back in before I triggered the explosive. Hitting your head was your fault, however.” Sergei’s voice is in her ear. A low purr that sickens her. His scarred face an unpleasant respite from her dreams. 

His presence overbearing and frightening. She wants to laugh, but the pain of her earlier screams shuts her up. She had no terror left for him, only the cruelty he brings. What did she have to fear when everything dear to her was dead? “If the explosion has shaken the fight from you, where is the fun?” 

‘There is no point in pulling the wings off of a pinned butterfly.’ Whatever he injected her with back in the snowmobile as she put up a last pathetic effort at resistance was slow to leave her system. Every stimulus felt muted.

Olivia wished for that dream back. Wished for the ignorance of her future where she would commit the same mistakes her mother did.

Knew that Sergei would not grant it. Her suffering was too lovely for that. She flinched back, seeing that blue and black gaze only fueled her attempt to yank out an IV. Tried to push him back as he leaned even further. 

‘I won’t be weak again. Weakness lead me here. It invites devils in.’ He pulls her hand away from her IV. 

“It is only saline, zaika.” Olivia was not naïve enough to believe that. There were rainbows in her vision, a churning nausea in her stomach. Everything felt wrong. 

“Sergei…” she tries to say, but it feels like broken glass and steel wool in her mouth. Olivia feels gummy liquid pool in her mouth. Dried blood from the freshly broken teeth mixing with her salvia. She spits it in his smirking face or tries. It mostly lands on his purple overcoat. Getting lost along the leather. Olivia still smiles, missing teeth, making it ghastly, she hoped. 

It was only polite after everything that happened. The smallest amount of retribution he deserved. So what if he killed her now? Better that than the pain of remembrance. What was anything Sergei could do compared to only having a baby blanket to remind her that Sofia ever existed?

His smirk softens, turning into such a gentle smile the foolish would think it was forgiveness. She shrinks back as far as the cot and handcuffs allowed her. It was a Pavlovian response, not because of any care of her life. Her swirling senses only fixated on the present monster in front of her. 

“Olivia, what have I done to deserve this? What has wounded you so much that you don’t even want my mercy? It is so Ukrainian of you to be ungrateful.” She hates that he can be so civilized and urbane. Like any act of resistance was meaningless to him.. It made her feel irrational, despite the pain and terror of the past few months. Like she was an unruly student and Sergei was the school principal that hated to punish her. 

Olivia cringes when he cups her face with a chuckle. “My handler wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. There will be others. Someone will come for me.” 

Even to her own ears, that statement sounds like a hopeful wish. It sounds immature and stupid. Best outcome of this would be Sergei having his Ivans crush her skull. The worst was him drawing out the old Olivia. A sick and brittle thing that willingly licked cum off his polished boots. And that cannot happen. Not after everything she’d lost. 

“The BAU? Oh, little zayunia, did you really think you were working for them?” He speaks Ukrainian with disgust. “Or if you didn’t show resistance to the T-Virus that I wouldn’t have left you to bleed out on the snow?” He slaps her face playfully. It is enough to make her head spin.

“Excuse me, Mr. Vladimir. Is this my patient?” Sergei uses her clothing to wipe her spit off of his coat, then turns all smiles to the Umbrella doctor. 

“This is Olivia, Dr. Lavičné. One of my favorite operatives. She seems to have gotten into some trouble. But I’m sure you’ll be able to fix what’s broken. May I ask a favor?” He strokes a scarred finger over her dry lips. The doctor, a small pale woman with glasses and graying blonde hair, smiles thinly at his antics. It makes Olivia think of a jagged glass.

“Yes, you may observe the ORIF surgery for her hip, Mr. Vladimir. But regarding your other proposal, no anesthesia is out of the question. I will not perform my work without it. This surgery has to be completed or the bone fragments could nick her femoral artery. You wouldn’t want that, and neither would Spencer. I can keep her off of narcotics after, if that is satisfactory?” 

“Very. I believe the pain will help her come back to her core values. It’s the least we can do for how much she helped us in the past.” Sergei’s smile deepened. Olivia guessed her despair must have shown. The words like a salt covered knife along the trauma. This was her future, and death would be so much better.

“I won’t do the surgery. I’m a BAU sleeper agent and he’s wasting your time and mine. Let me die! I don’t…” She tries to sit up.

The pain hits her like a tidal wave then. Sharp pain jolting her to full awareness. Nausea makes her gag. She bites her lips to keep a scream in. All her bright and noble thoughts fly out of her head. Leaving only one imperative, make the pain stop. Get through this. Lick your wounds and then make plans to strike back. His eye twinkles with joy at her suffering.

“Those concussions were quite hard on you, zaika. It has you talking silliness. But a bit of pain and you remember your authentic self.” Sergei pets her head approvingly. The doctor doesn’t look fazed at her outburst. 

“I can start the surgery in two hours. If she complains of dizziness, weakness, or numbness, please stop playing with her and notify me immediately.” She looks Olivia in the eye “I know you’re frightened, but you really have no choice, madame.” There is a prick in her arm and she is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I am going to try and post more often on this fic  
> Life behind me with a baseball bat ready to strike: Sure Jane.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying this fic. In before anyone says it, but I feel that an Umbrella facility like the one in the Caucasus would have the ability to perform surgeries seeing that they were making BOWs. And why does Sergei help her? As stated, It is no fun pulling the wings off of a pinned butterfly
> 
> Translation: Zaika- rabbit   
>  zayunia- Ukrainian for rabbit  
>  ORIF- Open reduction, internal fixation. A type of surgical procedure for fractures of the femur


	4. Chapter 4

The Past, Raccoon City

“No one appreciates the blue-collar workers here, do they?” Olivia slips in beside the lanky, scowling man at the bar. With the flip of her black hair and the unzipping of her hoodie, she sets her glass of vodka down beside his Budweiser. She let out a sigh of relief. Wearing these cheap clothes made her nostalgic. 

The clear liquid was warm from her holding it so long. She’d been eyeing him, wondering what approach would be successful. Right until he started complaining to the bartender that no one cares about the janitorial staff at his job. How his HR kept ignoring his demands. 

“I’m not looking for company. And I doubt I can hire someone as top class as you, ma’am.” He didn’t even turn to her, merely took a swig of his beer. Then swept more peanuts into his mouth. Crushing them with a grating sound that disgusted her. The warm amber light did nothing to hide how haggard his brown face was. 

Olivia wasn’t sure if it was from the constant alcohol use. Her father had looked the same near the end of his life. Her mother also had the same look. It was the face of knowing one's trapped and hating it. The expression of the weak and unambitious, in her opinion.

She’d followed him from the Umbrella USA’s UBCS building earlier. It was the easiest place to watch. To mingle, to zero in on the one weak link in the chain. They isolated everywhere else from what she saw at the other public locations. The employees there were far too observant to stalk carefully. 

However, like her mentor always told her, no one really notices the people who clean their toilets. And having to clean shit while being invisible breeds a lot of resentment. He’d taught her to use that along with crunching numbers or digging through dumpsters to find the secrets corporations liked to hide. Not that Umbrella made that easy.

Olivia knew this man, Randell going by his uniform, had been the right target when he walked out the doors mumbling angrily to himself. Kicked a bottle while cursing in some strange dialect. Made him hard to understand as he’d stomped down the street. She’d almost lost him on the subway until she caught sight of him getting off through the window. 

It was a homey bar. People seemed to know the man as he walked. Briefly, she thought of that show Petro liked. The one about the bar where everyone knew your name. He seemed to still be angry until his second Budweiser. That had been when she approached. 

Putting on her best look of commiseration, Olivia shook her head. “You mistake my intentions, I saw a man that was angry even among friends and wondered why. I’m curious and wanted to lend a sympathetic ear.”

“You sound like those fuckers I work with. Especially that slippery Russian asshole.” He turns on her, brown eyes hard. Something she can work with. And she wouldn’t even have to lie. 

“Where I come from, we hate Russians. I only sound like a Russian because they came, plundered my country, left us to starve, and insisted we thank them for the privilege. I despise Russians. The only group that’s worse is the fucking Mennonites.” Olivia drinks the rest of her vodka with a single swig. 

“We’re in the same boat there. I don’t like Russians either.” He puts his beer aside with a sigh. “I’d tell you all about it, but I’m out of beer.” 

“That’s an easy fix.” She takes out a crumpled fifty and motions for the bartender. “I want to buy another beer for my friend and two vodka shots. Keep the change, please.” The bartender is quick about it. Olivia even got two clean glasses this time.

“I'm George Randell, sorry about earlier. Bad day at work.” He held out his hand. Olivia takes it, making sure her webbing ring is visible. She was not here to find a partner.

“Olivia, do you want to talk about it?” She prepares herself for a rant about working conditions that her father would have viewed as heaven. 

“That white-haired son of a cocksucker calls me a gosnovos every time he catches sight of me.” 

Olivia startled at that, the specter of that big maytook from a few days ago chilling her bones. Even the thought of him made her tremble. She keeps cool. That behavior didn’t sound like him. And hadn’t he said slippery, Sergei seemed anything but slippery.

“What an asshole! Typical for those circle jerking Russians. Do you know what a gosnovos is?”

“No, but how scrawny bastard says it, I know it can’t be good, bless his heart.” 

‘Aww, that doesn’t sound like him at all.’ She sighs to herself. If Olivia didn’t have to see him again in her work, it would be too soon. 

“It means shitsucker in Russian.” Randell’s nose flares, fist clenches. His fist comes down on the bar, rattling his beer and the vodka. Then he simply shakes his head. 

“What is that fucker’s problem with me? I didn’t tell HR about his fun times with all of those mercenaries, and he still fucks with me. I’m tempted to take a picture next time and show it to HR to get him off my back. But even then I doubt it’ll help me at all.” He pauses, drinking his beer. 

“He can do no wrong. Every complaint I make goes up in smoke! I hate working there.” Olivia throws back her vodka. Not fearing inebriation due to it being so weak. American vodka was like water compared to Khortitsa. Her cheeks turn red.

“Damn girl! You know that stuff is powerful, right?”

“This is toilet water compared to the real thing. HRs are useless. Maybe you should take those photos and threaten the little moskal bastard?” 

“Thought of that too. But that bastard is protected, I’ll probably end up with my knees destroyed if I did that.” Olivia laughed at that, a calculated move to break the tension.

“I thought you said you’re a janitor, not a goon for some mafia group.” 

“There are certain things about my workplace that would make the public panic if they knew. Like their little UBCS hero group is full of convicts. I did time, ex-cons recognize ex-cons.” Olivia sat up a little straighter, biting back a predatory grin. This was what she was looking for.

“Maybe talking about it here isn’t a good idea? Would you like my card? I’m always trying to make new friends.” Olivia’s card appeared like magic in her hands. With practiced ease, she slips it into his pocket. He looked scared for a moment. Then shrugged.

“To new friends, I guess. I hope you don’t get me killed.” 

**** 

“It’s okay, kusiuchka. Mommy is almost done. We’ll go home soon. We just have to wait for mommy’s friend to call.” Olivia puts another cool wash cloth on Sofia’s forehead. The little girl sniffles, opening her bleary brown eyes. She no longer felt hot to Olivia’s touch. The extra washcloth was because of an overabundance of caution. 

Thankfully, she no longer heaved and vomited. Earlier, Sofia started throwing up as she was being driven to school. She’d been feverish and weak all morning, unable to keep anything down. Olivia’s jacket had gotten the worst of it. Her husband was out of town, helping an artist sell their work to a gallery. 

Olivia could not call out from work. It would have made her look weak since most of her colleagues would never stay home for a sick child. She might as well cut her arm and sink it into a shark tank. Not to mention her contact was supposed to call her at the office. Olivia merely sighed and called her boss, explaining the situation. Then brought her daughter to work. 

Thankfully, her desk chair was comfortable enough to hold a sick child. Sofia’s whimpering didn’t disturb as her office was far from the others. Olivia hated the feeling of gratitude that bloomed in her chest when looking at her office again. This office was proof of her hard work and cleverness. Not a gift for all the little tip offs her risk analysis work provided the firm. 

“Mommy, I want to go home. I don’t like it here.” Olivia strokes Sofia’s ash blonde hair. She looks so much like her father now. And was acting like him too. Whining when she didn’t get her way. Unlike him, Sofia still had time to be corrected out of that behavior. 

“Don’t whine, Sofia. Mommy needs to finish her work and then we’ll go home, okay? This is important work.” Sofia pouted at her, brown eyes shiny. Olivia felt a twist in her heart. She’d been too sharp. A trait that she’d picked up from Alexei. 

Sharp words to batter the weak. Big woman, picking on a sick child. And she was trying not to be like him. 

“Malia, I’m sorry. Ty dlia mene naikrashcha.” She softens and rustles her hair. “After work, I’ll take you to get some borscht and pampushka.” Olivia hopes that her stomach had settled enough to keep it down. 

Sofia smiled at her wanly. Her eyes sparkling at the thought of warm buns. She opened the picture book in her daughter’s lap, handed her water. “So just rest now. We’ll be done soon.” 

Olivia stood. Turned to her desk to sort through the documents spread out everywhere. Too messy, disorganization was a terrible fault. It led to further dissonance. She quickly put everything back into their places. Gathered what little research she’d collected over the past week. 

Not much, certainly nothing that seemed too untoward. Everything from the outside of Umbrella looked stable. Too stable to hire such men as this Sergei Vladimir or the mercenaries that made up the UBCS. That triggered her sense of fractures. What does a pharmaceutical company need with a group of such men?

Her instincts told her a crack was there. A glimmer of darker secrets to be teased out. She just had to find the next person beyond Randell to answer the question. Her phone rings, startling her. Olivia picks up, putting a finger to her lips to quiet her daughter. 

“An inmate from the Raccoon City Jail is attempting to contact you. Will you accept the charge?” Olivia doesn’t, hanging up the phone. It rings again, the same message plays. Out of curiosity, Olivia accepts. She’ll explain the charge to accounting later. 

“Oh, thank God! Someone finally picked up. Hey, can ya’ll bail me out?” Her contact’s voice was tinny. Unshed tears making his Southern accent thick. Olivia wanted to sympathize, but knew that an American jail did not compare to a Ukrainian one.

“Randell, what happened?” Her voice is calm to not startle her daughter. 

“Ah, man! I think they knew what was going on. Tried to leave after I gave my resignation, then I ended up here. I really need to be bailed out. Before anything bad happens to me.” Or Umbrella offers him more money to keep quiet. Olivia was half tempted to let him sit and stew. It might make him come down in price for the information. But he was her first lead into the unseemly side of Umbrella…

And if the company put Randell in jail, that meant Umbrella had the same idea she just did. And they could easily outbid her to keep his mouth shut. Better to play the compassionate friend. “I will be there in thirty minutes. How much is the bail?”

“Well, I punched that Nicholai in the face when I got caught. So that’s assault, it’s going to be at least two thousand to get me out. If Umbrella doesn’t lean on the police to keep me overnight.”

“Give me thirty minutes and I will be there to bail you out. Don’t go with anyone else until I get there.” She is already shrugging on her spare jacket before she remembers Sofia. She looked at her with bright brown eyes as she hung up the phone. 

“Get your coat, kusiuchka. Those buns are within reach.” Sofia is wobbly as she stands, Olivia buttons her into the rainbow colored jacket. She looks soft, no lines. No touches of poverty and despair on her round face. Everything she worked so hard for was clear in those carefree eyes. Olivia hugs her. 

“Are you still feeling sick?” Underneath the fever sweat, Olivia can smell the lavender soap she bought for her. In this moment, Olivia is glad she chose her. 

“No, mama. Can I have two pampushka?” She hugs her back. Olivia lets her go after a long moment. 

“Yes, but only because you didn’t eat today. Can you walk because I’ll carry you if I need to?” Sofia wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Don’t fall behind then, okay?” 

The drive over to the police station was a lot less eventful. Sofia could keep fluids down and started calling out whatever she saw in the window. When this was over, she would call Petro and let him know she was okay. But for now, Oliva tried to get her daughter to sing with her 

“Yak ya bula mala, Yak ya bula mala, mala, kolysala mene mama, to v kolystsi, to v korobtsi, teper mene lyublyat’ khloptsi.” Sofia looked up at her with a pout.

“I don’t like boys, boys are gross. I am not singing that song with you, mama.” She crosses her arms as Olivia finds parking at the station. 

Briefly, she considers leaving Sofia in the car. An idea that she immediately disregards. The last time Olivia bailed someone out, it had taken three hours. And Petro would be more angry that she had left her in the car then brought into a police station. 

“Sweetie, when we get into this building, be on your best behavior. Do not run off and if any strangers try to talk to you, don’t talk back.” 

######

“You are a goddamned angel, Ms. Yusuprova! I didn’t think you’d get here as fast as you did. Bless your little Ukrainian ass!” The jail cell opens with a buzz. Olivia cuts Randall a glare that would kill a gorgon. Not just because of the language, but because of the cost. Five thousand for a simple punch to the face? It was outrageous. More meddling from Umbrella, she was sure of it.

“Mr. Anderson, I must insist you keep your language less colorful. My daughter is here.” She gets her checkbook out. The black Lady Dior swung back against her side. 

“Right, you really brought your kiddo here? Just to bail me out?” Randell looked like hammered dog shit. As he’d explained, when he punched Mr. Nicholai, the man returned the favor with interest. She could spot a black eye, a split lip, and a fair amount of bruising across his face. He cradled his right hand where one finger looked to be bent backwards. But to his credit, Randell still had that sunny Southern charm.

“Her father was unavailable.” Olivia looked around once they reentered the lobby. As soon as she caught sight of Sofia’s rainbow colored jacket and light hair, she relaxed. 

The female police officer that offered to look after her was now trying to teach her how to make a cat’s cradle. Sofia made a crude imitation of the officer’s work.

“Good job, kid. You’re a quick learner.” She gives her a thumbs up. Olivia was not amused. Clearing her throat, Olivia gestured to her daughter to sit down. It wouldn’t do for her to vomit all over the officer.

“Of course, she’s a quick learner. Sofia is a good girl. Now can you stop playing your little games and do your job? Who do I sign this check to?” The woman gives her a hard look before standing.

“It looks like you don’t have to pay anything. The charges are being dropped. A Mr. Zinoviev came by and is currently at the front desk. I believe he said, ‘No hard feelings, Mr Gosnovos.’ Thats a direct quote by the way.” Olivia grins, snaps her checkbook back into her purse.

“Okay, lets go then. Sofia, come along. Time for those buns. Do you need a ride, Randell?”

“Bastard.” Olivia glances at Randell, who looked like the devil announced his presence. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. His knees wobbled.

“What the fuck does he want from me? Is he going to do more?” He says between whimpers. Olivia turns to him. Her hand shakes because that haunted look was a blast to the past. Glassy eyed and hollowed out.

Every time Alexei was too rough, her face mirrored his. One part sympathized, another wanted to scoff at him. At least his torment didn’t last for years. He never had to trick his mind into liking the pain. Randell never got infected with the hunger for the razor’s edge.

“Are you going to be okay?” He shakes himself at the sound of her voice. Nostalgia hit her right in the gut. Sofia got up and took her hand. 

“Yeah, and yes, I’m going to need a ride. Your little girl is adorable, by the way.” Sofia pulled her jacket sleeve up over her face. 

“I’m not allowed to speak to strangers.” The walk out was uneventful. Olivia thought she’d worked her way through the maze of a station without running into any of Umbrella’s men. 

She heard Randell gasp as they walked past the marble statue at the receptionist’s desk. He went still, deer in headlight confusion on his face. Following his gaze, she sees a wiry, tall man with green eyes and white hair coming toward them. Olivia picks up Sofia and tries to hurry along. But she’s already seen the smirk on the man’s face. 

No, running would not cut it. To run meant offering the throat. Olivia might as well lay down and expose her belly. Something her mentor taught her never to do. She stops and steels herself. Briefly, the names of roads flutter through her head.

Randell froze, horror on his face. No chance of getting him to move until he snapped out his freeze. So instead, she turns her squirming daughter’s face away from him. 

It didn’t matter if Umbrella’s lackeys saw her face. In fact, she hoped they did. It was going to be very familiar. Let it haunt them as their stocks plummeted in value.

But her daughter was innocent. She didn’t need to be involved in such sordid things. Please leave her out of it. An unworthy prayer from an unworthy soul. 

“Gosnovos. George, I’m glad they let you out.” The man hurries over to them. He then puts his hand on Randell’s shoulder. Up close, Olivia can see he also has a black eye. But between the two of them, Randell got the worst of it.

“Why?” Randell’s voice is soft, like the last breath of a man. 

“No hard feelings over a fight. Particularly between two men. Mr. Irons was very understanding about the whole thing.” Olivia could tell when a threat was being issued with a smile. The white-haired man lacked the finesse that Alexei did. 

Randell however shook awake at the contact. He stepped back, nostrils flaring at the contact. His fists balled up.

“What are you playing at, Nicholai?! Didn’t I do what you wanted? What more can you, your friends, and that fucking giant do to me?” He stabs a finger into the man’s black shirt. Nicholai looks down at the finger, then into the man’s quivering face. 

Animals smile to bare their teeth as a threat. The smile on his face reminded her of that. 

“Don’t squander your second chance. Besides, your role in this is over, right? We made a deal. I’m actually here to see your friend.” Randell dejectedly backed away from him. The man gave Olivia a brief wave. 

“Hello, I’m Nicholai. Nice to meet you.” 

“I’m not interested in knowing you, Mennonite.” Olivia fires back in Russian. Her grandmother would have been proud of that one. She shifts her daughter further away from him. “If you want to talk, I charge for my wasted time.”

“The old language, then. The Colonel would love that. A Cossack speaking the proper tongue? I wonder who taught you?” He holds his hand out. 

“Not a Russian,” Olivia could barely keep her grip on Sofia. She nods, refusing to touch his hand. It had all been a trap. A snare she’d run headfirst into.

“Will you talk properly to me or will I have to mention Sofia to the Colonel? Your daughter is very sociable. Even told me why she was there. Not very good parenting. I would hate to do so.” 

Oliva was glad that her daughter didn’t know Russian because she cursed at him. Went deep into the gutter. Called him far worse things than a simple shitsucker. 

Even Randell looked appalled, and he didn’t understand what was being said. The Russian bastard seemed content to wait her out. 

“Fine, what do you want, Nicholai?” There was scorn in her voice, but he only smiled at her. 

“I personally want nothing to do with you. But when the Colonel gives me an order, I must obey. And he wanted me to invite you to meet him. Since you're so curious about Umbrella.”

“An invitation for what?” Sofia squirms and Olivia finally lets her down.

“Dinner at Pearl of the Sea to talk about doing a risk analysis for him. Or something else. Who knows with him? It's tomorrow night at eighteen hundred.” She opened her mouth to ask if he really expected her to show up. 

“And I really wouldn’t stand him up. He has no tolerance for that. Your duty to Humanita can wait for one night.” Sofia beams up at him and waves. He waves back. 

“Tell him I’ll be there.” Olivia grabs Sofia’s hand too tightly, pulls her back. Randell seemed to age rapidly with guilt. He was going to have to find his own way home now. His information was tainted.

“Smart choice, ask for zaichik. I hope you enjoy your borscht, Sofia.” He smiles again at them before walking off. On the way back to her car, both Olivia and Randell are silent. She buckles Sofia into the car then turns on Randell.

“A deal, huh? Well, here.” She whips out the check and throws it on the concrete. “If you want to scramble for scraps, George. Grovel in the dirt for it.”

“I didn't have a choice! They were on to me and the things they promised… I couldn’t let them do that. I'm sorry your kid got involved. But you have to understand… I didn't want to disappear.” He staggers back at her glare.

“Disappear? You can disappear out of my life. That check is for five thousand, hope it pays for your hospital bills.” She turns to get into her car. 

“Ask him about the Monitors. It’s the least I can give you. It might make up for what I did.” He bends down to pick up the check. 

“Goodbye, George. Have an enjoyable life.” She drives off. As Sofia whines and the traffic got worse, Olivia wondered what to wear for tomorrow. Her anger at Randell’s betrayal was brief. It was the way business worked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of Sergei in this chapter. I felt showing how Olivia was before she completely shattered was important. Also like the idea that the more Sergei appears, the more pieces of Olivia start to come off. So don't worry, it's going to be the Sergei show soon in this fic. 
> 
> Also I hope I got Nicholai OK? It was my first time writing him and went for a mix between raging asshole, AnotherAnon's amazing characterizations (read their stuff its so good), and his RE 3 self. With a pinch of reference to certain fics (the one with him being a manslut). But I just can't write him being mean to a child. Please let me know how I can do better.
> 
> Can I just say Olivia is a well meaning but terrible parent? Really girl, leaving your kid unsupervised in a police station. You are crazy. Petro is the better parent between the two of them. 
> 
> Edit: Olivia called Nicholai a Mennonite as an insult due to a long history of 'tension between Ukrainians and that particular religious branch. Would you kindly believe I spent months finding that out? 
> 
> Also she's singing a folklore song to her daughter about a woman that grows old and wishes she had boys chase like in her youth. Don't worry Sofia don't have the T-Virus. She just has a normal stomach flu for now.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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